Doggone It!
by Cascade Waters
Summary: Ah, those little reminders.... WARNING: Contains spanking--don't like, don't read.


Doggone It!

by firechild

Rated T

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, nor would anyone who had ever been anywhere near his or her or anyone else's right mind give me money for it.

Warning: This story contains the non-sexual spanking of a young woman by her father figure. If you can't handle that with some equanimity, there's this handy new thing called a 'back button'...

Spoilers: Dogtags, reference to Bloodbath

A/N: I did some organizational speculation from the little glimpses I've gotten of the lab (I haven't seen all of the first two seasons, and my memory is not infallible) because I needed to find a way to make this work. I am assuming that the lab has a bathroom and not just a decon shower, based on reason and on her statement that she and Jethro could hole up in her office for a few days.

A/N: This is for Razz, who gave me a reason to finish it last night rather than putting it off again.

--

The lab seemed sort of empty without Jethro and his accessories. He'd only been with her for a short time, but she missed the not-so-little guy.

She was sort of starting to miss someone else, too. While the team had been doing paperwork from the EOD case a couple of days ago, they'd caught another one, this one fairly simple but with lots of little pieces of shredded evidence to reassemble and catalogue, and one of the other teams had been looking into reports of a naval shipwreck just off the coast and had stumbled (scuba'd) into a boneyard, so she'd been up to her ears in tiny strips of paper and briny bits of bone, but she'd noticed that while most of her work had been delivered by Palmer, she'd seen Ziva a few times, Tony a couple, Gibbs twice a day with her CafPows, and even the director once--but no McGee. She'd been pretty burned at him, yeah, she still was, a little, but she hadn't really thought much--or at all--about how he might feel. But he'd shot a sweet little dog! Shot him, with a gun!

Okay, so yeah, it had maybe been a sweet little German Shepherd attack dog, and okay, maybe Jethro had sort of bitten McGee and had been suspected of using his handler for a chew toy, and maybe it hadn't been all that smart of her to treat Tim like she had, or to shove Jethro on him after the case was over, especially when he sort of flinched whenever he got near the dog (she had to give the guy credit for not totally spazzing with some new dog phobia or something,) but still, she'd been right! Jethro had been innocent, and even though no one had taken her seriously, she'd stuck to her guns and she'd been right! And knowing that was nice, but not as nice as it might've been if she hadn't had this funny feeling in her stomach every time she thought about McGee and realized that she was starting to really miss her old friend--and the funny feeling got worse when she thought of how many lines she'd crossed to prove her point.

When Gibbs strode into her lab at four o'clock with no files, no coffee, and no caffeinated gift for her, when he knew that she was no longer working anything for him, she maybe should have paid a little more attention to the funny feeling that didn't feel so funny after all. Something in the former Marine's eyes made her nervous.

"Gibbs! What are you doing here? You shouldn't be down here. I mean, not that I don't love you, of course I love you, you're my Gibbs, and you know I love seeing you, you're always welcome down here, but why are you here? You never come down here unless you want something, and you know I don't have anything for you because you don't have anything for me, I mean, nothing for me to work on so that I could have something for you, so wh--"

Okay, he was really making her nervous now; he hadn't even opened his mouth, but he'd fixed her with this steady gaze, his eyes about the same shade of blue as approaching summer storm clouds in Texas (she'd been there once during a tornado--every detail of that day was fixed in her mind forever) and she'd all but felt his wordless order for silence, so she stumbled to a halt mid-babble, but she could feel her mouth still working for a couple of seconds like one of those old cartoon characters who kept running right off the cliff and just had time to realize that they were screwed before plummeting into the canyon below. He held her gaze in silence for a moment, then raised a hand and crooked a finger in a 'come' gesture, turning and heading for her office. Not sure what was going on but knowing better than to not follow when he beckoned, Abby trailed him into the smaller room, surprised when he slid the glass door closed and raised a brow at her as his hand hovered over the keypad. She provided the lock code, which he input before turning, not to face her, but to scour the office with his eyes; he seemed to find what he was looking for, striding across to the end opposite her desk, where the old security station sat. He went to the scarred little table she used as a catch-all and pulled out the old cafeteria chair, turning it around and planting himself in it, folding his arms across his chest as he fixed her with an intent look. Abby swallowed hard, only barely aware of doing so.

"What--what can I do for you, oh mighty Gibbsness?" She tried to sound flip about it, but the only flip she managed was the one her stomach was doing.

"You can start talking." He narrowed his storm-cloud eyes at her, making her feel like a piece of particularly uncuddly evidence in one of the machines that blocked the view from the main lab to this part of the office.

"Wh-what do you want to talk about?" Oh, man, if the guy had to make her mouth go dry like this, why couldn't he at least bring her a drink to fix it? That feeling in her gut was growing like a ChiaPet of yuckiness. With tentacles. A ChiaSquid.

"Let's start with the dog."

Abby blinked in surprise. "You want me to tell you about Jethro? You thinking about asking McGee if you can have him?"

"No, Abby, I want you to tell me what happened. All of it. From the time the call came in till McGee took the dog home. You're gonna tell me everything you did."

Oh. That sounded simple enough. Except... He was Gibbs. He already knew everything; so why was he here, grilling her about it? Waitaminutehere--grilling? She was being interrogated? Seriously? That would be really cool, except that she looked at his eyes again--she was having a hard time not looking at his eyes--and she shivered with the uncoolness of his gaze. Something inside told her that she knew that look, but she refused to acknowledge that voice.

His cleared throat and raised eyebrow told her that he was done waiting for her. Taking a deep breath, Abby started from when she'd first heard that she was needed down in the evidence garage, trying hard to keep from going off on tangents because he didn't really look like he wanted to hear any of that. She stuck with the dog and her role in the case--he didn't need to hear about all the stuff with her being mad at McGee, that was a personal thing and Gibbs didn't do personal things. She took him through the evidence, Jethro's behavior with her, all the technical decisions; she wanted to play up how she'd been right and how she'd stuck to her guns, thinking that Gibbs of all people would be proud of her for that. She gave reasons for everything she'd done, even when those reasons amounted to gut feelings, and when she was done explaining why she'd sent the dog with McGee (okay she left out the part about it seeming like poetic justice--Gibbs didn't need to know that) she took a deep breath and smiled, for a moment liking having so much of his attention.

And then he opened his mouth, and the moment passed. "Uh huh. So basically, you disobeyed me repeatedly, you put yourself at almost constant risk being in close proximity with a canine murder suspect that had already attacked one of your teammates, you blew off the director's considerable kindness in taking the time to check on you personally and to make sure that you could deal with the reality of the situation, you refused to listen to or trust any of the people who were trying to take care of you, you locked out everyone including the director, myself, and the technical owner of the dog, you left without permission and took our suspect-slash-evidence-slash-material witness to an uncontrolled environment to prove a theory and didn't tell anyone where you were going, you verbally disrespected the people whose job it is to train these dogs to keep us all safe from a variety of threats, and all to prove that you were right."

Okay, it didn't sound so good when he put it that way. Still... She put on a bright smile. "And I was!"

He didn't seem to appreciate that. "Abby." Amazing how many things he could say with just her name. She didn't like what he was saying with it now. Trying to keep some control over the mood, she eased back to half-sit on the edge of her desk, folding her arms and going for nonchalant. She didn't quite make it.

"Abs, do you rememer when your ex was stalking you?"

She gave him an odd look. "Of course I do."

"Good. Do you remember the dicussion we had after that?"

Abby squirmed. Did she remember? Duh! She'd tried to forget; she'd even gotten plastered that nights, only to discover in the morning that her head wasn't the only thing that was sore. "Yeah."

He kept his level look on her. "What were our problems then?"

Their problems? She distinctly remembered his right hand being a problem for the seat of the sweat pants she'd been sleeping in that night (and for the 'safe' underwear and bottom under them--she'd been glad to be off the next day, as she couldn't have sat comfortably in her hearse even if she hadn't been hungover.) Abby felt that a person should try almost everything at least a couple of times in life, but a butt-busting from Gibbs was one experience she was glad to know had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Seeing his impatient growl for the warning that it was, Abby thought seriously for a moment and then said, "Well, you were kinda irked 'cause you felt that I didn't trust you when I didn't come to you right away, and that I disrespected Timmy when I disobeyed him while he was trying to protect me, and that I didn't keep myself safe."

Gibbs nodded. "Good. One more: do you remember what I said I'd do if you ever needed reminding?"

Abby's eyes widened and she jerkily shook her head.

"Oh, I think maybe you do." He held out his right hand to her.

"No. No! No way! You said... no, it wasn't... I don't need... you can't mean to..."

"I did, it was, you do, and I am. I gave you my word, and I keep my promises. Come here, Abby."

She stared at his hand like it was an instrument of torment (well...) Shaking her head, she tried to back ujp, but had nowhere to go, thanks to the desk. Gibbs, looking unhappy but unsurprised, sighed. "Yes, Abigail. I told you that I would spank you again and every time we need to have this discussion, and you told me that there wouldn't be a next time. You also told me that you trust me." He didn't say it, but his raised eyebrow and the hurt in his eyes conveyed his challenge to that, and Abby felt almost bad enough to go to him.

Almost.

She bit her lip and shook her head again, unconsciously shielding her backside with her hands.

Gibbs sighed again and stepped up the stern factor. "Yes, Abigail Rae. We had a deal."

"A deal?" It was hard to sound suitably incredulous when her voice was cracking. "A deal is an agreement. I never agreed to let you roast my butt--I'm not a little kid!"

"No, Abby, your current tantrum aside, you're not; if you were, I'd have picked you up after the first time you said no to me, and we'd be almost done by now. Last time, I helped you because you didn't know what to expect from me, but now you do, and since you obviously didn't get the point then, we're gonna fix that now, and you're gonna start by bringing yourself over here and accepting responsibility for your choices and their consequences." He saw her gaze dart to the door again. "There's no way out of this, baby girl," he said softly. "This is gonna happen; the only choice you have is how long you want to drag this out."

The word 'forever' came to mind, but as she looked back at him, at his eyes and the measure of patience that he'd evidently found to counter her panic, Abby realized that he was right--she had gotten herself, gotten both of them, into this mess, and here he was, offering a way to get rid of the ChiaSquid of guilt that was currently doing laps in her gut. Granted, she didn't much care for his method of helping, and granted, he wasn't so much offering as, well, dictating, but still, her tummy would feel so much better without her uninvited tentacled guest (she tried not to think about how her rear would feel.)

Steeling herself outwardly while wilting inside, Abby reached out and let her hand crawl into his. His grip was reassuringly cool and surprisingly gentle, solid and firm but not scary, and when she glanced at his intense eyes to make sure that he noticed her capitulation, she saw pride there. Thos two things were what got her to his right side, mostly under her own power.

And that was where her bravery--and her throat, and pretty much evrything but her palms and the lake of guilt in her gut--ran dry. Fortunately (or not,) he'd anticipated that and decided that coming to him was enough this time (she had no idea how much he hoped that there wouldn't be a next time; he did have a heart under all that bluster, and it was breaking.) With a look that said both, 'I understand,' and 'trust me,' he tugged on her hand and maneuvered her down over his lap, adjusting her until her long frame was positioned to his satisfaction.

She was trying to force herself to not react, to not fight this position, until he spoke, low and slow and even. "I love you, Abigail Rae, and it's my job to protect you; I have to know that I can trust you to obey me and anyone else whose job it is to protect you, and I have to know that I can trust you to trust me and to respect my experience. I hate doing it this way, but I'd rather put both of us through this myself now than to risk someone somewhere down the line really hurting you because you don't matter to them the way you matter to me."

He gave her just seconds to process that before he flipped up her skirt, satisfied to see that she wore shorts underneath it; they would protect her modesty but not her nerves, which worked out just fine for him.

"Wait!" she cried frantically. "What if someone sees?"

He sighed a little, but he understood. "Nobody's gonna see, Abs; trust me."

With that, he began swatting, his strokes Marine-rhythmic, their target points Gibbs-scattered, some piled two or three to a spot and some lain single; it wasn't long before she stopped fretting about someone coming in on them and started whimpering, wishing for it to end. "G-gibbs, noooo!" she wailed softly. "I me-member! Noooo!" She was a tough young woman, but she was also fully aware that she was safe with him and that she deserved every searing swat from his hard hand, so her tears came easily, the first falling with the dozenth impact. He was covering every part of her bottom except for the place where her spine ended, and some small part of her brain understood that he was protecting her even now, which turned her tears to soft sobs.

She knew that she had earned all of this, knew that she deserved it and that things would be better once it was done, but he'd made it impossible to ignore the sheer stinging pain in her seat, and her body wasn't quite ready to handle this with total aplomb; one hand sailed back, aiming to cover her bottom, but at the last second, she stopped short of the goal, fisting her hand in the small of her back and fighting for control. Gibbs took her hand with his left one, gently working the fist open while his right hand continued to stoke the fire in her bottom. "Good choice! You remembered. That's my girl!" His soft, sincere words of encouragement should have clashed horribly with the spanking he was giving, but instead there was a kind of harmony, the meeting of two tones that were meant to go together, and she let the reassurance of that wash over her without scrutiny... until he raised his right thigh and started paying more attention to her already-warmed undercurve. "I'm right here with you, baby, I've got you; it's time for you to let it go now." He ignored the reflexive kicking and wiggling, relieved when he heard her sobs turn deeper and heard her start to say that she was sorry over and over again. He wasn't going to give her--or anyone--flak about apologizing when they were in this position and required to be weak; he just kept tending the fire until the tension had left her body and she was in full remorse mode. He finished off the spanking with one swat at the top of each side, then flipped down her skirt and traded hands, taking her right hand in his at the small of her back and using his freed left hand to gently retrieve her left, placing them both on her back.

Abby slowly came back to full awareness after a few minutes to the sensation of Gibbs gently massaging her hands, from the heels to the tips of the fingers. She felt wrung out, very sore, embarrassed, but strangely lighter, and she knew that the ChiaSquid had left the building and the swamp of guilt was down to a muddy little creek. She'd hoped that it would be all gone by now, but she knew perfectly well that she still had to find a way to deal with the way things stood between Timmy and her. She knew she had to do something, wanted to do something to fix it. She trusted Timmy and wanted him to trust her, just like she wanted Gibbs to trust her again the way she trusted him.

She just wasn't planning to trust Gibbs with that little hiccup. Especially not right now.

Thinking about trust--and about how she'd probably forfeit it with her behavior lately--sent her into another brief crying jag. Gibbs wasn't really the sweet-nothings type, but his hands on hers, so much bigger and harder than hers and treating her like every inch of her was precious and fragile, said what she needed to hear. As she calmed, she noticed that he'd let down her skirt, which felt a little like him replacing her dignity. She didn't have long to think about that, though, before his hands stilled, gripping hers.

"I love you, Abby. You're mine, and I will not lose you because you refuse to use your head. I hear what you're saying about the dog--I heard you the first time, too, but as much as we should treat animals with a certain amount of respect, no dog will ever be worth your safety. Ever. I was listening to you, but you need to learn to do more than just listen to me, and to everyone else around here who cares about your well-being; what you wanted this time wasn't a chance I was willing to take, and it never will be. When I--or the director, or DiNozzo, or even McGee or Ziva--give you an order, we have to be able to trust you to follow it, whether you like it or not, whether you want to or not, even whether you understand it or not. We've lost too much, we've lost too many. You know I'm a man of my word, so you can believe me when I say that I will take the hide off of your backside and make sure you never set foot in this place again before I'll bury you. Do you understand me?"

She was a little stunned by that, and she yelped as his right hand left hers and connected again with her sit spot; she nodded frantically, and that same hard hand patted the center of her spine with about as much force as one would use on a sleeping infant. "Good girl."

He helped her stand, then came up by her and turned her into a tight hug, holding on as he intoned firmly, "I'm proud to have you, Abby. This is done; you and I are just fine."

That nearly made her cry again, as did her attempt to rub out the sting as they parted--she quickly discovered that the contact only flared it, and as she gasped indignantly, Gibbs chuckled, then met her answering watery glare with a raised eyebrow. "Go clean yourself up and finish up for the day." Abby nodded and shuffled off toward her little office bathroom. His voice stopped her as she reached the doorway. "And Abs?" She turned from the waist, which was not her greatest idea. "Don't put us here again--you get a hankering to play this game a third time, you'll be wishing for a guard dog to keep me away."

Her eyes widening, she walked him turn and unlock the sliding door and then stride out of the lab. It wasn't until later, when Tony dropped by to check on her, that she realized that Gibbs had ordered everyone to stay away from the lab for an hour. And she could've been wrong, but somewhere in her mind was the niggling suspicion that her favorite Italian wasn't so much curious as commisserating...

--


End file.
